tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37001710613972542232024-03-13T14:38:15.414-07:00raw blow/Rob Loweand other <strike>nonsense</strike> poemsmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-29296814004640894202016-07-25T18:15:00.001-07:002016-07-25T18:15:40.281-07:00<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh whoa and how do you know If yr skin fits you? Sometimes it can feel stuck or too tight or too loose around the side and you can't find the tag to exchange for a different size and other ppl seem good with theirs and don't notice when ppl look at them or observe their skin i dont know how to be that way my skin bag is not fitting me right or maybe it's fine just don't look at me bc I feel stupid</span>morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-50318376190120159542013-10-17T10:54:00.001-07:002013-10-17T10:55:06.783-07:00I am the poisonthe poison that swallows you<br />
the agony that springs from your thumbs<br />
the maze of bodies inescapable<br />
It's enough to make you drink yourself<br />
your own fluids<br />
pour a glass<br />
take a deep breath in disgust<br />
try not to wring your hands<br />
or crack your knuckles<br />
remember to be small<br />
to hide inside yourself<br />
watch for the rhino's horn<br />
do not expect understanding<br />
but maybe one day it will come<br />
in waves<br />
or even a sudden downpour<br />
we may never know what the three hummingbirds<br />
fought over<br />
but one day<br />
I will collect their<br />
tiny feathers<br />
and hold them in my handsmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-83902441210069883872013-02-19T12:04:00.002-08:002013-02-19T12:04:23.663-08:00Achievements<br />
I am tired<br />
of these things<br />
beyond my control<br />
so I will practice<br />
until I have dead aim<br />
with a rubber band<br />
and folded piece of paper<br />
so that I can<br />
hit people<br />
who talk loudly<br />
on cellphones<br />
on the bus<br />
where no one<br />
can escape them<br />
I will take<br />
this small victory<br />
and put it<br />
disproportionately high<br />
on my list of achievements<br />
morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-88706301533557851842013-02-12T21:46:00.002-08:002013-02-12T21:46:28.942-08:00The MoonI cannot help but stare at the moon some nights<br />
as if I had never seen it before<br />
even though it is always floating in the sky<br />
and riding my bike<br />
breathing<br />
open-mouthed<br />
when I smell manure<br />
in the park<br />
I cannot help but think<br />
of the poop in my mouthmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-64106518042359681962013-02-12T21:44:00.001-08:002013-02-12T21:44:44.065-08:00Insectsparticularly in the early evening and late summer<br />
sometimes july<br />
can be heard singing late<br />
into the night<br />
gloriously<br />
to an empty window<br />
or a wall<br />
or a room<br />
interrupting<br />
those soft<br />
near-silencesmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-84728385575149529112012-12-10T17:33:00.001-08:002012-12-10T17:33:44.746-08:00thiefI will sell you my soul<br />
but this will never move you<br />
<br />
I am a thief<br />
and self-centered<br />
<br />
I cannot stop doing these things<br />
rationalizing<br />
taking<br />
wantingmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-54200562323934313432012-08-24T10:27:00.001-07:002012-08-24T10:27:48.709-07:00<br />
Last night you asked<br />
for simple and uncomposed poetry<br />
for it to flow raw from my tongue<br />
I thought of liquid heat<br />
and skin<br />
and contact<br />
but couldn't<br />
tie words together<br />
I'd forgotten all my knots<br />
from days of studying and practice<br />
my thoughts were suddenly<br />
very stubborn<br />
like a fist full of dirt,<br />
longing to be freed<br />
but only small grains escaping<br />
not enough to let words take root<br />
and begin something new<br />
morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-4998932703396802192012-07-28T12:38:00.003-07:002012-07-28T12:38:50.043-07:00Return to myselfI am trying to return to myself<br />
but in my way<br />
stands a forest<br />
of every tree I have ever climbed<br />
or thought of climbing<br />
and I regret now<br />
that my dreams feel ever so small<br />
wrapped tightly in eucalyptus leaves<br />
and bound with a wisp<br />
of dry wood smoke<br />
warm-feeling like a memory<br />
<br />
There is an organ<br />
within my body<br />
of soft sweet innocence<br />
and with it<br />
I have mourned the loss<br />
of my childhood<br />
I have longed to erase<br />
the false truths I have told myself<br />
I have tried to return to myself<br />
<br />
The heavy mist of optimism<br />
seems to have dissipated<br />
but on days like today<br />
there is just enough moisture in the air<br />
to breathe deeplymorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-52046199455266636592012-06-16T15:13:00.004-07:002012-06-16T15:13:50.278-07:00keeping calmI want to go outside<br />
and sing silky ribbons<br />
of melody that float in<br />
through your window<br />
on a warm night<br />
<br />
Things have never been quite<br />
the same since<br />
we stopped dunking our heads<br />
in buckets of distraction<br />
and empty, frivolous joy<br />
opened our eyes<br />
despite the fear<br />
<br />
Sometimes I felt better<br />
alone in dark quiet<br />
but I know my foot is inches<br />
from that stagnant infectious pool<br />
threatening to fall in<br />
<br />
And I am good<br />
at keeping calm<br />
in the most inappropriate of timesmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-650454652107818152012-04-19T22:25:00.000-07:002012-04-23T09:20:33.549-07:00O'o<br />
Yesterday I listened<br />
to the last recorded sounds<br />
of a now-extinct bird<br />
first calling a mate<br />
then after a storm took her away<br />
his lone call<br />
and the space where her answer should have been<br />
was so heavy<br />
O please, O please<br />
let me find her<br />
let me hear her voice<br />
silence seemed to say<br />
I've never perceived so much<br />
from an empty moment<br />
and I felt so much regret<br />
for being a human<br />
on this sad earth<br />
that just never saw us coming<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-22165397871425403582012-04-02T23:33:00.003-07:002012-04-02T23:38:51.874-07:00it's not so hard to smile<div>at a stranger</div><div>or a friend</div><div>to be infected briefly by joy</div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">but they go on</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">and I feel a heavy </span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">stillness</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">that weighs somber </span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">and thick in silence </span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">or cold darkness</span></div>morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-50294960101800326312012-03-10T21:28:00.001-08:002012-03-10T21:30:57.345-08:00some days<div>God </div><div>some days</div><div>god </div><div>what is wrong with me</div><div>and wouldn't your mother be proud</div><div>and is it so hard to be mildly happy</div><div>or at least somewhat neutral feeling</div><div>the thought of being around friends</div><div>or acquaintances </div><div>really sounds undesirable</div><div>and I know I would not want to talk or smile</div><div>and because of that I would make a bad impression</div><div>or maybe hurt someone's feelings</div><div>and I feel like a child</div><div>the one who was called moody</div><div>and was such a bother</div><div>you think a simple answer </div><div>wouldn't be an ordeal</div><div>and it smells like fucking burning rubber in here</div><div>and yeah why not feed into everything bad I feel</div><div>I can't lay in bed anymore watching Futurama</div><div>and I can't even have a beer with this stupid medicine</div><div>seriously is something burning</div>morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-62359381029385892652012-03-07T21:15:00.001-08:002012-03-07T21:15:15.288-08:00<div>when I was 5</div><div>and I would crawl under my bed</div><div>and breathe softly</div><div>into the dark</div><div>cramped dusty space</div><div>until I fell asleep</div><div>it was nice </div><div>everything confined to that space</div><div>and nothing existed </div><div>outside of it for a moment</div><div>I felt safe and happy</div><div>and undisturbed</div><div>until I awoke to my mother </div><div>calling my name</div><div>I saw the light switched on</div><div>her feet on the carpet</div><div>I would wait until</div><div>she turned and walked away</div><div>to crawl out into the world again</div>morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-48304927718237769702012-02-11T22:32:00.000-08:002012-02-11T22:38:50.100-08:00My favorite word is no<div>no work tomorrow</div><div>no calculus ever</div><div>no sadness</div><div>no frustration</div><div>no running late</div><div>no being mean</div><div>no crying for no reason</div><div>no realizing you're out of shampoo when you're already in the shower</div><div>no regrets</div><div>no need for money</div><div>no dying</div><div>no falling to your knees in despair</div><div>no wrong size shoes too late to return</div><div>no dirty dishes</div><div>no forcing a smile</div><div>no hating strangers for no reason</div><div>no detached-feeling ache</div><div>no bad days </div><div>no bad days </div><div>no bad days </div><div>no bad days </div>morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-18752785816482129702012-01-23T13:32:00.000-08:002012-01-23T13:37:28.409-08:00GROW UP<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrs_54jAH_egy0B3EaQO3e344S9dnQBnGwkfHb2JdAVL3RfCsZDgp5FhDL3r8LiSjsqt0zHolqs5cUPl4jVlakFgbhHL6R89iQ-Kv9ceynn7UBQXdF9D1cu6l3ayWs1kawQSlYo7ambtc/s1600/2012-01-23_13-31-06_898.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrs_54jAH_egy0B3EaQO3e344S9dnQBnGwkfHb2JdAVL3RfCsZDgp5FhDL3r8LiSjsqt0zHolqs5cUPl4jVlakFgbhHL6R89iQ-Kv9ceynn7UBQXdF9D1cu6l3ayWs1kawQSlYo7ambtc/s320/2012-01-23_13-31-06_898.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700944770836344306" border="0" /></a><br />hey i made a zine<br />send me your address if you want onemorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-45194899962785421302011-12-21T23:50:00.000-08:002011-12-21T23:52:14.533-08:00Even if it's not about you, it is<div><div>I'm not sure</div><div>who I would be </div><div>if not for you</div><div>probably the same mess</div><div>you met last year</div><div>drunk and destructive</div><div>and pretending</div><div>to be just fine</div><div>I am so thankful</div><div>to feel better at all</div><div>and even though </div><div>I sometimes fall back </div><div>into shadows</div><div>you are always there</div><div>waiting</div><div>bringing light back</div><div>to my eyes</div></div>morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-52989746062995632212011-12-21T23:39:00.001-08:002011-12-21T23:39:44.809-08:00<div>It is unusual</div><div>for me</div><div>to be able to have a conversation</div><div>so honest</div><div>maybe it was the dark</div><div>of the car</div><div>that provided cover</div><div>and our eyes forward to the road</div><div>no anxiety-inducing permanence</div><div>our momentum</div><div>not allowing </div><div>any second</div><div>to become more important</div><div>than the approaching one</div><div>and the comfort</div><div>I felt was strange</div><div>discussing my inherent </div><div>mistrust of people</div><div>and at the same time</div><div>noting its absence between us</div><div><br /></div>morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-66772659151776178782011-12-15T19:59:00.000-08:002011-12-15T20:17:09.212-08:00heavy headMy head and heart<div>feel heavy</div><div>and I feel sad<div><div>and scared</div><div>about the passage of time</div><div>and for a moment </div><div>I missed my mom very intensely</div><div>and I missed being a child very intensely</div><div>time gives me nightmares</div><div>vague nightmares</div><div>where something terrifying and </div><div>irreversible has happened</div><div>The feeling is the same as the one I get </div><div>when I am</div><div>for a moment</div><div>suddenly aware that there is a beginning</div><div>and an end</div><div>and I can only struggle to control</div><div>some part in the middle</div><div><br /></div></div></div>morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-73261899696141029592011-12-11T17:29:00.001-08:002011-12-11T17:30:16.612-08:00resolveto sit and feel and <br />not imagine myself stared at<br />in judgement<br />to speak only in first person<br />using piano keys<br />or guitar strings<br />and feel it all<br />and show it all<br />to forget fear and<br />embarrassment<br />to remember all that I am<br />and once was<br />to know how special<br />and small I am<br />to not worry about <br />the loneliness that <br />inevitably comes to me<br />to be drunk <br />on laughter <br />and silly headed<br />like a child<br />on nothing but the <br />pure fact<br />of existencemorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-39308140456380956242011-11-17T12:49:00.000-08:002011-12-11T17:33:51.083-08:00Fuse pronounced foo-saywords and names<br />get stuck in my head<br />and I repeat them<br />to<br />stop thinking<br />be a machine<br />linguistically minded machine<br />that can objectively describe<br />what I feel<br />and not be embarrassed<br />or panicked<br />or overwhelmed<br />in a way that makes me<br />feel like a speck of dust<br />on top of a fresh<br />pile of dog shit<br />that you just stepped inmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-58470056519811693892011-10-21T17:43:00.000-07:002011-12-11T17:34:12.725-08:00You smell like pissfrom the bus<br />I saw three<br />probably homeless people<br />sitting at a bus stop<br />for some reason<br />I had to keep<br />looking<br />they looked calm<br />and I could practically smell<br />the piss<br />and for a moment<br />it made me feel soft<br />and sad<br />for how desperate we all are<br />just to be loved<br />every word and action<br />is fueled by longing<br />and the fear<br />of being unwanted and alonemorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-61739293177664172562011-10-21T17:42:00.000-07:002011-10-21T17:43:03.731-07:00poop filledmy favorite music<br />sounds like a night terror<br />only I don't realize it<br />until someone else<br />is around to hear it<br />to me <br />its like sunshine and<br />sugar crystals <br />filtering through tiny<br />speakersmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-30203947161490220212011-09-06T22:01:00.000-07:002011-12-11T17:35:41.028-08:00GiantI dont know who ever told you<br />I was cool<br />or that<br />there is such a thing<br />at times<br />I feel so pathetic<br />and I can't imagine<br />I will ever be okay<br />but when<br />I slowly fell off my bed<br />and we just stared<br />for an hour maybe<br />and couldn't stop smiling<br />I knew<br />everything was fine<br />I traveled to the future<br />and that moment<br />stood taller<br />than the rest<br />it was a giantmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-64104930664295534012011-09-06T22:00:00.000-07:002011-09-11T20:33:12.113-07:00Cordyceps is fucking nutsIn the dark<br />smelling wet earth<br />sadness sprouting from my head<br />like parisitic fungus<br />so I dig<br />and go deeper into<br />the black<br />turning my back on the light<br />and try to smother this thing<br />that aches in my chest<br />and maybe collapse <br />into myself<br />and then I keep digging<br />even though <br />my fingers are bleeding<br />and why am I doing this<br />and there's dirt in <br />my eyes<br />my hair<br />my nose<br />I'm coughing <br />and sinking<br />but it's all for the hope<br />that when I emerge<br />I will be <br />someplace<br />or <br />someone<br />differentmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700171061397254223.post-78040075166065833292011-07-29T13:02:00.000-07:002011-12-11T17:34:41.359-08:00maybe it's like thisI used to be a swimmer<br />charging my limbs<br />against the steady water<br />sometimes lifting my head<br />to gasp for air<br />each lungful<br />pumping regret<br />through my veins<br />now,<br />I'm lying on my back<br />in an ocean<br />effortlessly<br />letting my body<br />rise and fall with<br />the sigh of each<br />crest and lull<br />and only occasionally<br />does my head go underwatermorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11410042998788899557noreply@blogger.com0